


Pass Request

by LydiaBSlade



Series: Destination Unknown [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Military, BenArmie AU, Blow Jobs, Come Marking, Hazing, Homophobic Language, Hux is problematic, Implied sexism/racism, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Light Angst, M/M, Self-indulgent descriptions of New York, Snark, The blowjobs are somewhat less depressing than last time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 21:27:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16773256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydiaBSlade/pseuds/LydiaBSlade
Summary: Hux is home on a weekend pass after cadet basic training. He is definitely not going to visit Ben Solo.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is intended as a sequel to “In Two Days” but can be read on its own. It’s set in 2003, so Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell is still a thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains descriptions of military hazing that are not physically violent but which may be upsetting to read - the hazing includes food deprivation and (relatively mild) public humiliation. There is also a brief reference to blood, and one line of dialogue that includes explicitly homophobic language. Please don’t hesitate to reach out if you need more information, or if you feel that this story is under-tagged.
> 
> If you don’t want to read any of that, skip to Chapter 2. Chapter 2 is happier and it is where the porn lives. 
> 
> (Conversely, if you aren’t here for the porn, you may want to stop reading at the end of this chapter.)

The temperature is in the nineties over Labor Day weekend, and Manhattan smells like melting asphalt. The air feels thick. At night the sky is pale yellow, the sulfur-colored city lights reflecting off the clouds. 

Hux has been home for less than 24 hours, on his first four-day pass since basic training, but the sense of joy and relief that he felt when he first saw the city skyline from the train has already dissipated into the boredom and listlessness that he has always associated with being home. 

Somewhat to his surprise, his father had picked him up from the train station the day before and then took him to lunch at Nougatine - to celebrate, Brendol said. In the pale light that filtered through the restaurant’s sheet windows, Brendol had looked at him almost shyly, as if he weren’t sure what to say to this sunburned, crew-cut version of his son.

“Well, how was it?” Brendol had asked him, finally. “Your training. Was it what you thought it was going to be?”

“It was easier,” said Hux. 

It hadn’t been quite so easy for everyone. The lone girl in Hux’s squad, New Cadet Tico, had done Hux and his male squadmates the favor of absorbing most of the cadres’ abuse.

For his part, Hux had done everything in his power to blend into the background - no easy feat, at 6’1” with unmissable red hair. (They had nicknamed him, inevitably, “Big Red One.”) But if there was nothing he could do about his height or his hair, Hux knew enough to avoid giving anyone any information about himself that they could use to get their hooks into him. 

He even went so far as to suppress the last vestiges of his British accent, replacing it with his best imitation of a kind of flat middle-American nowhereness. It gave Hux a slight pang to erase what, in his unsteadier moments, he thinks of as his last connection to the remembered sound of his mother’s voice. But sacrifices must be made. 

New Cadet Tico hadn’t seemed to know how to do that, how to make herself grey and forgettable, how to let the hazing slide past her to find an easier target. 

At lunch on their second day of training, as Hux’s squad sat staring stiffly at the West Point crest on their plates (as they were required to do, unless a cadre member spoke to them), their squad leader had asked them each to explain why he wanted to be a West Point cadet. Hux had looked up, made eye contact, said, “Sergeant, I want to serve my country,” and snapped his eyes back to his crest before he could be told to do so. 

When it was New Cadet Tico’s turn, she began unpromisingly with, “Um,” and then, in a surprisingly clear voice that carried, said, “Honestly, I think I’ve watched Star Wars too many times.”

“What?” said their squad leader, nonplussed. 

“Uh,” said New Cadet Tico, perhaps realizing too late that this level of honesty had not been called for, “You know, Star Wars. I wanted to be like those heroes, who stood up for what was right and didn’t run away.”

“That’s the most ridiculous answer I’ve ever heard,” snapped their squad leader. “And you need to put a ‘Sergeant’ on that, _Luke_.”

“Yes Sergeant!” she squeaked. But it was too late: after that, she was a favorite target for every half-formed impulse of the cadres - one of the New Cadets they called “All-Stars” because everyone had heard her name shouted so many times.

First it was her hair: the cadres decided that her thick, waist-length hair looked “too big” in a regulation bun, so she was packed off to the cadet barber and came back with her hair roughly hacked off just below the ear, her round face puffier with tears.

Then it was her “lack of military bearing,” which required her to be sent away at mealtimes to the haze table, where the cadres shouted at the New Cadets continually and only allowed them a few bites of food per meal. 

In the weeks that followed, New Cadet Tico began to look as if she were disappearing, bit by bit: her face took on a sunken look, and dark circles appeared under her eyes. On a routine morning run one day, she tripped on a broken chunk of pavement and went down face-first on the concrete as if shot. Somehow, she pushed herself up and carried on, stumbling behind the formation like a drunk, blood dripping from her nose and her scraped knees.

Hux, observing this, resolved only to be even more entirely unlike her. He had begun to feel as if West Point and its routines and rituals had locked into him at an almost cellular level, slotting into something he hadn’t even known was missing inside himself. At times, when his squad was moving through the woods together, on ruck marches or in battle drills, he felt as if they were merging, like drops of mercury, into a shining whole. 

During their thirty-six hour capstone field exercise, the rain had poured down on them endlessly: Hux, soaked to the skin and trying not to let his teeth audibly chatter, had never imagined that a summer night could be so cold. As they set up their patrol base in the dark, stumbling over roots and slipping in the mud, one of the prior-enlisted cadets told them that the only way for them to keep warm would be to huddle together under a poncho. 

The other boys had laughed, but everyone was miserable enough to give it a try: after his guard shift ended, Hux came back to the pile of his squadmates in the center of the patrol base, shook his replacement awake, and slid into his spot. 

Lying on his side on one poncho, with another spread over him, Hux’s shivering gradually stopped. The boy behind him shifted in his sleep and threw an arm over Hux’s waist; the boy in front of him snuffled slightly as he curled warmly against Hux’s chest. It occurred to Hux as his eyes closed that he had not slept in such close proximity to another human being since his mother died. In spite of the hard ground and his wet clothes and the pervasive smell of sweat and damp plastic, Hux felt as if he had found the one warm point in a cold universe. He slept peacefully until just before dawn, when their squad leader shouted at them to get up and get to the perimeter for stand-to. 

Even the endless hours of shoe-shining and the pointlessness of starching and ironing uniforms that would shortly be soaked in sweat didn’t grate on Hux as it did on most of his classmates. Hux had always taken pride in dressing neatly. He quickly acquired the ability to keep his leather boots and dress shoes polished to such a fine mirror-like shine that they looked almost liquid, like pools of black oil. The repetitive circular motion of polishing and the smell of the leather was soothing for him, almost meditative. 

He only felt truly caught out once: when New Cadet Tico’s empty seat at his squad’s table in the mess hall had temporarily been taken by a New Cadet from another platoon, someone named Lee. Hux had glanced up briefly from the West Point crest on his plate to see the newcomer and felt his eyes snag on New Cadet Lee’s broad shoulders and his sulky, vaguely decadent face. Something about his narrow dark eyes, high cheekbones, and soft reddish mouth made the hair on the back of Hux’s neck stand up.

“New Cadet Hux!” his squad leader snapped. “Why aren’t you keeping your eyes on your crest?”

“No excuse, Sergeant,” Hux responded immediately, blood flaring into his face. 

“If you like staring at New Cadet Lee so much, then keep doing it,” his squad leader said, to muffled giggles from the rest of the table. Hux opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it. “No, don’t even look at your food. Just stare at him for the rest of the meal. Don’t look away! See how easy it is to eat then.”

“Yes Sergeant,” said Hux, flushing miserably, fumbling to bring his fork to his mouth without taking his eyes off New Cadet Lee’s equally-mortified face. The rest of the meal seemed to drag on interminably as Hux, obediently staring, watched New Cadet Lee’s long eyelashes flutter against the shadows under his eyes, watched his tongue as he licked a dot of white sauce off his full lower lip. When they were finally released by the order to form up outside, Hux’s heart was pounding as if he had narrowly escaped from some predator. 

There was one other time, too, although the rational part of Hux’s brain told him that it wasn’t directed at him: at the end of the summer, after their military grades had been distributed, Hux had walked past a neighboring barracks room and heard his classmates complaining.

“What the fuck are these grades even based on, anyway?” one boy said. “How shiny your shoes are? How well you can iron a shirt?”

“Yeah, who the fuck cares about shit like that in combat?” asked a second voice. 

“I’ll tell you what they’re based on,” said a third boy loudly. “They’re based how gay you are. Whoever looks the gayest and sucks the cadres’ dicks the most, that’s who gets the A.”

Hux walked on briskly, his face hot. He had gotten the one “A” in his platoon. 

***

After taking Hux to lunch, Brendol had left for a corporate retreat. “I’m sure you’ll want the apartment to yourself,” his father said knowingly; Hux raised one eyebrow, unable to imagine what his father thought he might be likely to get up to in an empty apartment. 

Having nothing better to do, Hux spent the rest of Friday afternoon walking and walking, from Columbus Circle to the Bowery, feeling a kind of restless electricity needling at him, under his skin. The day was overcast, but the pavement seemed to radiate a wet heat, as if the city itself were sweating. 

Near Christopher Street, as the afternoon wore on, Hux inadvertently made eye contact with a man smoking outside a bar, leaning against the brick. The man had shaggy dark hair and he was wearing a white T-shirt and jeans; his tanned bare arms gleamed faintly with sweat. He grinned when he saw Hux looking at him and cocked his head, unabashedly looking Hux up and down. Hux averted his eyes and picked up his pace, walking rapidly towards the sheet-glass towers of the financial district ahead. 

That night, Hux lay awake, unable to sleep, listening to the faint hiss of the air conditioner. In his father’s apartment on the fortieth floor, there was no other sound from the city outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes on the military references here: 
> 
> \- “Big Red One” is the symbol of the 1st Infantry Division. Pretty much every red-headed person in the military gets nicknamed this at some point.
> 
> \- During basic training, West Point cadets’ official rank is “New Cadet” and they are addressed as such. The basic training cadres are upperclassmen, not officers. 
> 
> \- I hope it’s clear from the way the story is written that Rose is being singled out not only because she has a personality but also because she’s not a white man. The narration suggests that she’s to blame, but that’s because it’s from Hux’s perspective and Hux is a dick.


	2. Chapter 2

In the morning, Hux wakes abruptly from a vivid dream: a dark-haired man whose face he couldn’t quite see had pinned him to the bed, straddling Hux’s hips and holding his wrists above his head in one big hand. The man was laughing at him. Hux struggled in his grip, not sure if he was bucking his hips to throw the man off him or to grind up against him.

The man leaned forward, as if to kiss Hux. “Pathetic,” he whispered instead, hotly, into Hux’s ear.

Hux wakes up hard, his whole body tingling, feeling disgusted with himself. He puts his hands over his face for a long moment, then forces himself to get out of bed, deciding that the only productive way to deal with his current frame of mind is to go for a run.

Outside, it’s already hot; the humid air crackles as if a thunderstorm is about to break. Hux pushes himself to alternate between sprinting and jogging from one lamppost to the next, even though he feels as if he’s trying to breathe through a wet towel. 

He makes his way up Central Park West, then swings into the park to do laps around the reservoir. At the beginning of his third loop around the water, his right knee starts to hurt; by the time he finishes, it’s throbbing. 

Hux bites his lip; he had planned to jog home, but with his knee the way it is, he decides to give in and catch the crosstown bus instead. He heads towards the Upper East Side to look for the bus stop.

 _Ben lives near here,_ his brain reminds him, unhelpfully. Hux had been to a few high school parties at Ben’s apartment, where an awkward mix of Ben’s swim team and theater friends generally made it clear that the only person who particularly wanted Hux there was Ben. 

The Solos’ apartment is in a prewar townhouse, the kind of place that has beautiful hand-carved stonework and unreliable plumbing. 

Hux pauses by the limestone columns that frame the door of Ben’s building, and hesitates at the foot of the stoop. Even from the street, he can see the name “SOLO” next to the call button for the sixth floor. He looks up at the fan-shaped window over the door. _What am I doing_ , he thinks. 

The intercom crackles suddenly. “Hux?” says Ben’s voice through the static. Hux freezes, mortified. “Is that you lurking out there?”

Hux wants to die. _I could just keep walking_ , he thinks. “Yes,” he says instead as confidently as he can, trying to sound as though he has every right to be here. 

“Well... come up! My parents aren’t home.” The buzzer sounds. Hux moves through the marble-tiled lobby and towards the elevator as if sleepwalking. The elevator is an antique, carved out of wood and terrifyingly jerky. The slow ride to the sixth floor gives Hux plenty of time to stare at the lovely patina of its interior panels and contemplate how utterly pathetic and ridiculous he is. What possible excuse can he give for being outside Ben’s door, sweaty and breathless, at nine A.M. on a Saturday morning?

“Hey stalker,” says Ben as Hux steps out of the elevator. Ben is standing in the doorway of his apartment wearing nothing but a pair of blue-checked boxer shorts. Very short boxer shorts. His dark hair is a mess, hanging in his eyes. “What brings you here?”

Hux blinks. “Do you always answer the door like that?” 

Somehow, even though Hux spent the summer training, Ben is the one who seems to have gotten fitter since Hux last saw him, his arms and chest more defined than ever. His big shoulders seem to fill the entire doorway as he leans against it. _Unfair, but typical,_ Hux thinks.

“I knew it was you,” says Ben. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m home for the weekend. I went for a run.”

Ben grins. “So you came home from basic training and immediately ran all the way here?”

“I was waiting for the crosstown bus.”

“Uh-huh. Well, you’re welcome to come wait in here.” Ben steps aside to let him in. Hux tries not to brush against him as he walks by. “You’re limping - you okay?”

“It’s just runner’s knee,” says Hux, standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room. The furniture looks antique and expensive and he feels far too unclean to be near any of it.

“Sit down, I’ll get you an icepack.”

“Oh no,” says Hux, horrified. “I don’t want to get sweat stains on the furniture.”

“You could take a shower,” Ben suggests. The grin is back. “Be my guest.”

“Okay,” says Hux without thinking, wanting to make himself more presentable and also wanting to do almost anything that doesn’t involve standing in the living room trying not to stare at Ben’s chest and at the faint trail of dark hair that leads down into his shorts. Then it occurs to him to wonder if Ben plans to join him in the shower. His face goes hot again. 

He tells himself that it’s a relief when Ben just hands him a towel and points him in the direction of the bathroom instead of following him in. 

Ben bangs on the door as Hux stands in front of the mirror after his shower, towel wrapped around his waist, trying to arrange his hair neatly with his fingers. “Can I come in? I brought you some clothes to change into if you want.”

 _This is normal,_ Hux tells himself. _I’m going to get dressed and maybe we’ll go get something to eat, like normal people who are normal friends_. “Yeah. Thanks.” 

Ben opens the door, still only in his shorts, holding a bundle of clothes under one arm. He looks Hux over with intense interest. “You look good,” he says. He reaches out to ruffle Hux’s hair; Hux jerks away, annoyed. “Even this stupid haircut looks kind of hot on you.”

“Oh thanks, that’s great to hear.”

Ben is still looking intently at Hux. Hux can almost feel Ben’s gaze moving over his body, like a searching hand. “Hey, I’m just glad they don’t seem to have been beating or starving you at that place.”

Hux rolls his eyes. “You know they don’t actually do that, right? It’s a university, not a prison camp.”

“If you say so.” Ben’s eyes drop lower. “How’s your knee?”

Hux had, in fact, forgotten his knee pain entirely. “It’s fine. I just need to stay off it for a few days.”

Ben suddenly drops to his knees in front of Hux and Hux nearly swallows his tongue. “Where does it hurt?” Ben asks, pushing the towel aside to touch Hux’s leg gently. His face is level with Hux’s crotch and his big fingers are warm as they move over the sensitive skin on the back of Hux’s knee. 

Hux grits his teeth, willing himself not to get hard. “It hurts, um, behind the kneecap and above it.”

Ben grips his knee more firmly, sliding his thumb into the sore spot above Hux’s kneecap and massaging it. “Does that feel good?”

“Yes,” says Hux miserably. 

“You’re really tense,” Ben says, looking up at Hux innocently. His hand moves higher up Hux’s thigh, under the towel. “That’s probably why your knee hurts - this tendon on the outside of your thigh is really tight.” He digs his fingers into it and Hux makes a small, involuntary noise.

Ben drops the clean clothes he had been holding onto the floor and begins rubbing both of Hux’s thighs, his thumbs pushing into the stiff muscles near his groin. Between the sight of Ben half-naked on his knees and the blissful feeling of his strong hands searching out the spots where Hux is sore and aching - getting so close to where Hux really wants to be touched right now - Hux’s whole body feels flushed with heat. He’s losing his struggle to avoid becoming obviously hard. Ben has clearly noticed. He looks extremely pleased with himself. 

The towel starts to fall off Hux’s waist and Hux grabs for it with both hands. Ben looks up at him through his shaggy hair, biting into his full lower lip. “Hux, I don’t want you to freak out again, but - “

“But what?”

“But you’re really fucking hot,” says Ben. His face is flushed too now. “I just want to, like, bite you.” He touches Hux’s hands, which are still clenched into anxious fists, clutching his protective towel. “Can I?”

“Don’t bite me,” says Hux unsteadily. But he lets Ben gently unfold his fingers, dropping the towel to the floor. Ben makes a sound in his throat as he looks up at Hux leaning naked against the sink. Hux’s cock is fully hard now, standing up flushed and red against his stomach. 

Ben leans forward to kiss his hipbone, his lips and tongue working against Hux’s skin, his stubble prickling the crease of Hux’s thigh. He runs his fingers lightly over Hux’s balls and up the underside of his cock; his thumb lingers over the head. Hux groans and tries to push his hips up against Ben’s hand, but Ben pulls away. 

“Mmm,” he says, looking up at Hux with those dark eyes. “You want me to suck you?” 

Hux nods, his face flaming.

“No, you need to tell me what you want. Out loud.” That sideways grin again. “I know how you are, I’m not going to let you tell yourself later that I held you down and forced you to let me suck your cock.” He’s teasing the head of Hux’s cock with his fingertips again, and it jumps against his hand. “You like that idea, huh?”

Hux is too far gone to argue the point. “Please suck my cock,” he says hoarsely, then “Ah, _fuck_ ,” as Ben leans forward to run his tongue over Hux’s balls and suck them gently into his mouth. He licks his way up Hux’s cock, then squeezes the shaft firmly in one big, warm hand as he licks away the precome beading on the head. Hux’s mouth is open and he’s breathing in shallow gasps. 

“You taste really good,” Ben says, then sucks the head of Hux’s cock fully into his mouth, still working the shaft with his hand. Hux is gripping the edge of the sink behind him with both hands, trying to stay upright, trying not to come immediately into Ben’s hot mouth. Ben is pumping him faster now, sliding his mouth and hand up and down together, and Hux can’t stand it, can’t stop his hips from jerking forward - 

“Ben - “ he gasps as Ben sucks harder, bringing his free hand up experimentally to massage the sensitive spot behind Hux’s balls, and Hux can’t hold back anymore. “Oh - fuck!” 

Hux’s come is all over Ben’s lips and chin; Hux sags against the sink, panting. Ben licks his lips and wipes his face on Hux’s towel. “I think you might have lasted a full thirty seconds or so this time,” Ben says, laughing. “It’s a new record.”

“Oh my god, do you ever shut up?” says Hux, still breathless. 

“I’m kidding, I love making you come.” Ben stands up, grabbing Hux’s hand. “You can come in my mouth anytime you want. Also this floor is really hard and I was going to have to stand up in a minute anyway, so it’s just as well you can’t control yourself around me.”

“You’re an idiot,” says Hux, but he lets Ben pull him out into the hallway, still naked - he looks around frantically for any sign that Ben’s parents might have come home - and into Ben’s bedroom. It looks more or less the way Hux would have expected it to look. It’s a mess, for one thing; there’s a pile of clothes on the floor next to the unmade bed and a jumble of what looks like art supplies on the desk. 

Hux looks around: Ben seems to be a fan of grunge and glam rock. One wall is a glittery kaleidoscope of David Bowie pictures, an inordinate number of which show him shirtless or barely dressed. Over the bed, Kurt Cobain’s mournful face fills a giant poster, dark eyeliner dripping down his cheeks like sad clown makeup. The dormer windows are wide open and the warm air blowing in smells like rain. 

“Hey,” says Ben, coming up behind him and folding himself around Hux. The words _you can come in my mouth anytime you want_ are still echoing in Hux’s head. Ben’s bare skin against Hux’s back is hot and damp with sweat. He bites gently into the sensitive skin where Hux’s neck meets his shoulder and rolls his hips against Hux’s ass, making him shiver. “Still with me?”

“Yeah,” says Hux, as Ben begins grinding against him more purposefully, breathing hard against his neck. Ben’s still in his boxers, his erection a thick line of heat through the thin cloth. “Do you want me to, uh - “

“You can do anything you want to me,” Ben says hotly into his ear, his fingers tightening on Hux’s hips. “Fucking anything, I’m serious.”

“Okay,” says Hux, his heart pounding. He turns to face Ben, sliding his hands into Ben’s thick hair, thinking about all the time he’d spent in high school trying not to fantasize about doing exactly this. Ben’s breath still smells like Hux’s come. Hux licks his way up Ben’s throat and up the underside of his jaw; the salt and stubble burn against his tongue. He nibbles experimentally at Ben’s earlobe and Ben groans, pulling Hux more tightly against him, his hips twitching desperately. “You like that?”

“Yeah - please keep doing that - don’t stop - “

Hux pushes Ben’s hair away from his big ears and begins going over them thoroughly with his mouth, running the tip of his tongue over the inner whorls, nibbling his way along the outer rim of one ear, then tilting Ben’s head sideways to suck on the tip of the other. Hux is getting hard again, his still-oversensitive cock chafing a little against the cotton of Ben’s shorts. Ben is making little frantic sounds in his throat, his fingers flexing on Hux’s ass, grinding his cock hard into the hollow of Hux’s hip. “Fuck, I love that,” Ben pants. 

Hux is taking advantage of the opportunity to touch every part of Ben that he’s been trying not to stare at for years, running his hands over Ben’s biceps, squeezing his pecs, sliding his hands into the back of Ben’s boxers to feel the muscles of his ass flex as he spasms against Hux. Ben’s cock feels enormous against his hip. Hux wants to taste it; he wonders if it’s safe to try. 

“Oh fuck,” Ben gasps. “I’m going to come in my shorts if we keep this up. Hux, can you - can you kneel down?” Hux drops to his knees and peels off Ben’s boxers, wanting to look at him. The size of his cock makes Hux feel simultaneously inadequate and aroused. While Hux is still debating what to do with it, Ben licks his own palm loudly and begins frantically jerking off. “Hux, can I come on you? Please?”

“Not on my face,” says Hux immediately, leaning back on his hands and spreading his legs, pushing his chest forward to give Ben better access. “You can come on my chest.”

“You’re so fucking hot,” Ben groans, his hand still moving rapidly on his dick. “Oh my god - I’ve been jerking off thinking about you all summer - I want to see you covered in my come - “

“I want that,” says Hux, his mouth dry. “I want you to come all over me.”

“Fuck!” says Ben, and that seems to do it, his hips spasming as his come splatters Hux’s chest and stomach. He flops onto the rug next to Hux and kisses Hux frantically, cradling Hux’s head in both hands, running his fingers through Hux’s short hair. Hux can’t decide whether the faint taste of his own come in Ben’s mouth is arousing or disgusting. 

Ben pulls back for a moment and looks Hux over. “Jesus, Hux, you look amazing like this,” he says, still breathing hard, his mouth wet and red. “Like a porn movie. I wish I could take a picture of you.”

“No,” says Hux sharply, panic cramping in his stomach. “Absolutely not.”

“Okay, okay! No worries, I won’t do that. I’ll get you cleaned up.” Ben pulls his shorts back on and darts out of the room; Hux hears water running. He takes a deep breath and gingerly uncurls his legs. His knee has started to ache again. Sitting naked and covered in come on the floor of Ben’s bedroom, he feels cold and more than a little ridiculous. _I have zero fucking discipline,_ he thinks. _What the fuck is wrong with me?_

There’s a “Trainspotting” poster on the back of Ben’s closet door, with the “Choose Life” monologue printed behind a skinny, shirtless Ewan McGregor. _Of course he would have that up, we’re both such fucking cliches,_ Hux thinks. 

Ben comes back carrying a damp washcloth and the bundle of clean clothes he had offered Hux earlier. He reaches for Hux with the washcloth and starts to wipe him clean. “I can do it,” Hux snaps, jerking the washcloth out of his hand and scrubbing himself roughly with it. 

“Sure, no problem.” Ben is looking at him anxiously, his hands frozen in the air around Hux as if he wants to touch him but isn’t sure if he’s allowed. “Hux, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” says Hux, trying to breathe. He fumbles with the too-big T-shirt and basketball shorts Ben has brought him. The T-shirt has Darth Vader on it. “I should go. I’m sure your parents will be home soon.”

“No, they won’t!” Ben backs towards the door, looking less anxious and more angry now. “Look, Hux, I get why you ran off last time, because you had a lot going on and you didn’t want to deal with the other people at that stupid party, but it was still shitty. Especially since I couldn’t talk to you all summer.”

“That wasn’t my fault, they wouldn’t let us make phone calls!” That isn’t strictly true, but Ben doesn’t need to know that. 

“Okay, fine! I’m just saying, please don’t freak out on me again.”

“I’m not freaking out.”

“Prove it. At least stick around for breakfast.”

“Fine,” Hux snaps, still half in and half out of the basketball shorts. “Where’s breakfast?”

“Uh, in the kitchen, I guess?” Ben gestures to the window. “It’s pouring outside. I’ll make eggs.”

Hux finishes getting dressed and follows the sound of Ben whisking scrambled eggs to the kitchen. Ben looks up and laughs at the sight of Hux in his enormous T-shirt and shorts. “I think this is the least put-together I’ve ever seen you.”

“Trust me, I know.”

“You look cute.” Hux grimaces. “You should dress like that all the time.”

“Ugh, not a chance,” Hux says. “Ben? I’m not freaking out, but I actually do want to know if your parents are about to walk in the door.”

Ben pours the eggs into a pan and begins making coffee. “No. My mom left early this morning because one of her clients had some kind of emergency. She probably won’t be back until tonight.” Ben’s mother is a prominent lawyer of some sort, Hux recalls vaguely. “And Dad is...” Ben shrugs. “Who knows. Mom kicked him out again a few weeks ago.”

“Oh,” says Hux, feeling stupid. He’s never been exactly sure what Ben’s father does, but he remembers seeing him occasionally at the kind of school events that Brendol was always too busy to attend. Ben’s father always looked handsome and faintly disreputable, as if he had wandered into the high school by mistake on his way to somewhere more interesting. “Sorry to hear.”

“It’s okay. They do this all the time.” Ben salts the eggs and digs a loaf of bread out of a cabinet. He glances at Hux. “So how was basic training, anyway?”

“It sucked,” Hux says frankly. “But I kind of liked it.”

Ben laughs. “Kind of like me then.” He grins at Hux. “Except that you definitely like it when I suck.”

Hux looks for something to throw at him. “You really shouldn’t make jokes, it doesn’t go with your aesthetic.” 

“My aesthetic?”

“Oh, you know.” Hux waves his hand vaguely in Ben’s direction. “Black eyeliner and poems about death.”

“I’ve moved on from that,” Ben says, scooping the eggs onto two plates and handing one to Hux. “Now it’s glitter eyeliner and paintings about death.”

“Oh god,” says Hux. “That sounds even worse.”

“I’ll show you some of them later. You’ll like that, it’ll give you another opportunity to insult me.”

“Aren’t you supposed to offer to show me your etchings before we have sex, not after?”

“I didn’t have to,” says Ben through a mouthful of eggs. “You couldn’t stay away.” 

“Apparently not,” Hux sighs, poking at his eggs. “So is that what you’ve been doing all summer? Dressing up like David Bowie and painting pictures of skulls?”

“Well, not literal skulls, but yes. My mother wants me to put together a portfolio so that I can apply to art school.”

“Really? She actually wants you to go to art school?”

“Why wouldn’t she?” Ben asks, annoyed. “She wants me to do something I’m passionate about.”

“How nice for you.”

“I know, I know,” says Ben. “Your father will probably only pay for college if you study something horrible, like engineering.”

“Actually he’s always said he wouldn’t pay for college at all. He thinks men should be self-made.”

Ben mimes jerking off. “Oh come on,” he says. “I’d understand if he couldn’t afford to help out, but isn’t he an investment banker?”

“I’d rather not be dependent on him anyway. Anything he pays for is something he can take away from me if he decides to.”

“If he finds out you’re gay, you mean?”

Hux stabs more fiercely at his eggs. “It could be any number of things. Besides, it doesn’t matter now. West Point is free.”

“I see,” says Ben, putting down his fork and looking at Hux with genuine concern. “So your father might cut you off if he finds out that you’re gay, and your grand plan to be independent of him is to go to a school that will _definitely_ kick you out if they find out? Hux, I think you need a Plan B.”

“Trust me,” says Hux, with finality. “They are never going to find out.” 

“Well,” says Ben, looking away again, “I hope you have fun with that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to all the lovely people who commented and left kudos on “In Two Days” - hope you aren’t disappointed by the sequel. I’d like to continue with additional vignettes from Hux’s military career and his relationship with Ben, so please let me know if that’s something you’d be interested in reading. Also, I’m on Twitter and Tumblr under the same username - come say hi!


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